A chunk of leaves falls on his head from above. He looks up. A glimpse of fabric and skinny arms flash by him. Shadow is maneuvering through the thick trees, as adept as a predator, trying to get closer to the spring.
Cal curses under his breath. “I told you—”
“Too late,” Shadow whispers down from over his head. “Just get ready.”
“We weren’t finished discussing this,” he hisses back.
“I was,” she says, then hauls herself up to another branch.
She has gumption, he has to give her that. She just doesn’t know when to rein it in. Cal draws his sword and watches, waiting to see what she’s going to do. All is calm, and then a sudden silence descends: Birds stop chirping; even the breeze seems to halt.
Seconds later something whizzes through the air. There’s a thunk, and one of the monks’ horses rears up and whinnies, followed immediately by another thunk and another frightened horse, and then they’re all rearing and whinnying and running, scattering in every direction. The men, alarmed and confused, begin chasing after them, yelling for them to stop and come back.
Stones begin flying at the men now, too; three of them are hit, falling to the ground. A couple of the men draw their bows and begin shooting arrows toward the trees, trying to strike their hidden enemy. Shadow.
Without another thought Cal runs out from behind the trees and leaps into the fray, swinging his sword. The men turn their bows toward him. An arrow flies by his head. He knocks the bow from the man’s grip and aims his sword for the man’s neck, slicing it open. The man crumples to the ground. Yet another appears beside Cal and takes aim at him with a sword. Cal spots another archer and sees him draw his bow. He ducks, hitting the ground just as the arrow whizzes by, striking his attacker instead. It feels great, flexing his fighting arm again. The others have given up on the horses to join the battle; they charge toward Cal, yelling at the top of their lungs. Rocks are still flying through the air, and a couple of them hit their target. Meanwhile, Cal drives his sword through the back of a monk; a large stone finishes off the other, clocking him squarely in the face. The last three monks run off into the woods, one bleeding from the side of the head, where another of Shadow’s stones got him.
Their leader jumps onto a horse and begins riding away—with Cal following close behind. But before he can loosen his bow, the man is hit by a stone, jerks back, and tumbles from the horse’s back. The horse continues galloping.
Cal runs up to him and lifts his sword. Until he realizes that man is already dead. Shadow’s aim was excellent—too excellent. The fall broke his neck. The mangled heap on the ground can’t respond to any questions now. Cal curses. Shadow has the brute force part under control, but if she’s going to become a properly trained apprentice, she’ll have to learn the finer points—and fast.
Cal hears a high-pitched shriek. Horrible visions pop into his mind, and he runs to where Shadow had been hiding up in the trees.
His fear is correct. Shadow is lying facedown on the ground, eyes closed, right arm curled under her. Blood seeps from her clothes.
The guilt sears through him in a flash. I never should have let her do this, he thinks, though he knows there was nothing he could have done to stop her. All she wanted was to fight for a good cause, and he’s given her grief over it every step of the way. He was supposed to work with her, be responsible for her, and he fought with her instead. She was brave and resourceful, and had the makings of a good assassin. Now she is lying in the dirt. He falls to his knees beside her. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry.” If he could do this all differently, he would. He’s failed in his duty.
Then Shadow’s eyes pop open. “Hey, it’s not that serious. It’s just my arm.”
“Oh. I thought you . . .” He looks at her arm. She’s hurt, but not nearly as seriously as he first thought. He pulls away, embarrassed about his outburst. She slides the injured arm out from under her, wincing. “Can you move it?” he asks. She wiggles her arm a bit. There’s a large gash and a lot of blood, but it looks like it will heal if they take care of it. And it doesn’t appear to be broken. She begins picking herself up off the ground.
“Let me help you,” he says. He puts her good arm around his shoulder and pulls her into a sitting position.
She puts her hand against her stomach and takes a few deliberate breaths. “Got the wind knocked out of me is all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”
“You didn’t exactly give me a chance, and you were supposed to run.”
“Yeah.” He raises his eyebrows.
Shadow is subdued. “I’m sorry—”
But Cal doesn’t let her finish her sentence. “Let’s get you fixed up,” he says. He leans down and reaches under her knees and arms to pick her up.
“It’s okay. I can walk,” she says. But when she takes a few steps, she’s limping.
“Here,” Cal says. She doesn’t say no this time. He scoops her up and carries her the rest of the way to her horse, her arms grasping his neck tightly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Shadow
WE MAKE OUR WAY UP the high pass, leading the horses carefully over the rocks. Cal asks me if I’m okay, if I’m in too much pain. If I need to stop and rest awhile. I assure him I’m fine, but he still offers for me to ride along with him. Again, I tell him I’m fine. In the span of one day, he’s gone from dismissive to overly attentive. But that’s my fault, at least partially. I guess I might have encouraged it back at the clearing. I really was hurt when I fell, but I could have gotten up sooner than I did—it’s just that his sudden anguish was too enjoyable. Before that I’d have guessed his response to me falling out of a tree would have been a shrug and a “served her right.”
At the same time, I’m irritated that he seems so affected by my fall, although I can’t quite put my finger on why.
“Did you grow up in Serrone?” Cal asks me, breaking the quiet of our silent truce.
“Right outside of it, in Nir,” I tell him. “I live with my aunts on a farm called the Honey Glade. After they ended their active service in the Guild, they began running bee colonies and raising herbs. They make poultices and such that they sell these days.”
“Ah. Sounds nice, actually. Peaceful.” He gets quiet, and for a moment the only sound is the hooves clicking on the trail. Then he asks, “And your parents?”
“My mother is part of the Guild and she serves at the palace, so she isn’t around a lot.” Eventually I’m going to have to tell him the truth—how I’m currently running away from her and the plans she’d made for me—but I’ll worry about that later. Maybe if he finds me worthy he’ll speak on my behalf to the Guild, maybe even help change my mother’s mind. I urge my horse away from the cliffside.